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ROBERT  LOVIS  STEVENSON  \ 
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MVVTORKrNTUJBOOK 


Lamia P'^ge      i 

Title 3 

Dedication 5 

Title  to  List  of  Drawings .7 

Head-pieces  to  List  of  Drawings         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  8,  9 

"A  nymph,  to  whom  all  hoofed  Satyrs  knelt."     Head-piece,  Part  L      .         .11 
"On  this  side  of  Jove's  clouds".         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         -13 

"And  so  he  rested,  on  the  lonely  ground" 15 

"The  words  she  spake  came,  as  through  bubbling  honey'      .         .         .         .17 

"  'I  dreamt  I  saw  thee,  robed  in  purple  flakes'  " 18 

"  'She  bathes  unseen'  " -19 

"  'Pale  grew  her  immortality,  for  woe  of  all  these  lovers'  "  .         .         .         .20 

"The  guarded  nymph  near-smiling  on  the  green" 21 

"Into  the  green-recessed  woods  they  flew"        .......     23 

Decoration — Daffodils    ............     26 

"By  a  clear  pool,  wherein  she  passioned  to  see  herself"         .         .         .         .27 

"Foremost  in  the  envious  race"  .........     30 

"  '  Lycius,  look  back!    and  be  some  pity  shown'  " 32 

Decoration — Love's  mesh 32 


"Swoon'd,  murmuring  of  love,  and  pale  with  pain"         .        .        .  Page    35 

"The  vvide-spreaded  night  above  her  towers" 39 

"  As  one  came  near  with  curl'd  gray  beard,  sharp  eyes,  and  smooth  bald  crown"     41 

"  They  had  arrived  before  a  pillar'd  porch  " 43 

"  Shut  from  the  busy  world  of  more  incredulous."  Tail-piece  to  Part  I.  .  44 
"They  were  enthroned,  in  the  even  tide,  upon  a  couch."  Head-piece,  Part  11.  45 
"Deafening  the  swallow's  twitter,  came  a  thrill  of  trumpets".  .  .  -47 
"She  nothing  said,  but,  pale  and  meek,  arose  and  knelt  before  him"  .  .  49 
"It  was  the  custom  then  to  bring  away  the  bride  from  home"       .         .         -51 

"And  shut  the  chamber  up,  close,  hush'd  and  still" 53 

"He  met  within  the  murmurous  vestibule  his  young  disciple"        .         .         .55 

"They  all  moved  to  the  feast" 56 

"  What  wreath  for  Lamia  ?  What  for  Lycius?  What  for  the  sage,  old  Apollonius?"  60 
"Checking  his  love-trance,  a  cup  he  took  full  brimm'd"  .         .         .         .61 

"The  sophist's  eye,  like  a  sharp  spear,  went  through  her  utterly".  .  .  64 
"And  Lycius'  arms  were  empty  of  delight"      .......     65 

"And  in  its  marriage  robe  the  heavy  body  wound" 67 

Decoration  to  Note        ............     69 

Tail-piece — The  History  of  the  Book 70 


Upon  a  time,  before  the  faery  broods 
Drove  Nymph  and  Satyr  from   the  prosperous  woods, 
Before   King  Oberon's  bright  diadem, 
Sceptre,  and  mantle,  clasp'd  with  dewy  gem, 
Frighted  away  the   Dryads  and  the   P'auns 
From  rushes  green,  and  brakes,  and  cowshpp'd  lawns. 
The  ever-smitten  Hermes  empty  left 
His  golden  throne,  bent  warm  on  amorous  theft : 


From  high  Olympus  had  he  stolen  light, 

On  this  side  of  Jove's  clouds,  to  escape  the  sight 

Of   his  great  summoner,  and  made  retreat 

Into  a  forest  on  the  shores  of  Crete. 

For  somewhere  in  that  sacred  island  dwelt 

A  nymph,  to  whom  all  hoofed  Satyrs  knelt ; 

At  whose  white  feet  the  languid  Tritons  poin-'d 

Pearls,  while  on  land  they  wither'cl  and  adored. 

Fast  by  the  springs  where  she  to  bathe  was  wont, 

And  in  those  meads  where  sometime  she  might  haunt, 

Were  strewn   rich  gitts,   unknown   to  any  JNIuse, 

Though  Fancy's  casket  were  unlock'd  to  choose. 

Ah,  what  a  world  of  love  was  at  her  feet ! 

So  Hermes  thought,  and  a  celestial  heat 

Burnt  from  his  winged  heels  to  either  ear, 

That  from  a  whiteness,  as  the  lily  clear, 

Blush'd  into  roses  'mid  his  golden  hair. 

Fallen  in  jealous  curls  about  his  shoulders  bare. 

From  vale  to  vale,  from  wood  to  wood,  he  flew. 

Breathing  upon  the  flowers  his  passion  new. 

And  wound  with  many  a  river  to  its  head, 

To  find  where  this  sweet  nymph  prepared  her  secret  bed ; 


In  vain  ;    the  sweet  nymph  might  nowhere  be  found, 

And  so  he  rested,  on  the  lonely  ground, 

Pensive,  and  full  of  painful  jealousies 

Of  the  Wood-Gods,  and  even  the  very  trees. 


There  as  he  stood,  he  heard  a  mournful  voice, 
Such  as  once  heard,  in  gentle  heart,  destroys 
All  pain  but  pity  :    thus  the  lone  voice  spake  : 
"When  from  this  wreathed  tomb  shall  I  awake! 
When  move  in  a  sweet  body  fit  for  life. 
And  love,  and  pleasure,  and  the  ruddy  strife 
Of  hearts  and  lips!      Ah,  miserable  me!" 
The  God,  dove-footed,  glided  silently 


Round  bush  and  tree,   soft-brushing,   in   his  speed, 
The  taller  orrasses  and  full-flowerine  weed. 
Until  he  found  a  palpitating  snake, 
Bright,  and  cirque-couchant  in  a  dusky  brake. 

She  was  a  gordian  shape  of  dazzling  hue, 
Vermilion-spotted,  golden,  green,  and  blue  ; 
Striped  like  a  zebra,  freckled  like  a  pard. 
Eyed  like  a  peacock,  and  all  crimson  barr'd  ; 
And  full  of  silver  moons,  that,  as  she  breathed. 
Dissolved,  or  brighter  shone,  or  interwreathed 
Their  lustres  with  the  gloomier  tapestries — 
So  rainbow-sided,  touch'd  with  miseries. 
She  seem'd,  at  once,  some  penanced  lady  elf, 
Some  demon's  mistress,  or  the  demon's  self. 
Upon  her  crest  she  Avore  a  wannish  lire 
Sprinkled  with  stars,  like  Ariadne's  tiar : 
Her  head  was  serpent,  but  ah,   bitter-sweet ! 
She  had  a  woman's  mouth  with  all  its  pearls  complete 
And  for  her  eyes — what  could  such  e)'es  do  there 
But  weep,  and  weep,   that  they  were  born  so  fair  ? 
As  Pioserpine  still  weeps  for  her  Sicilian  air. 


i6 


Her  throat  was  serpent,  but  the  words  she  spake 
Came,  as  through  bubbhng  honey,  for  Love's  sake, 
And  thus  ;   while  Hermes  on  his  pinions  lay. 
Like  a  stoop'd  falcon  ere  he  takes  liis  prey : 

"Fair  Hermes!    crown'd  with  feathers,  fluttering  light, 
I  had  a  splendid  dream  of   thee  last  night ; 
I  saw  thee  sitting,  on  a  throne  of  gold. 
Among  the  Gods,  upon  01)-mpus  old, 
The  only  sad  one  ;    for  thou  didst  not  hear 
The  soft,  lute-finger'd  Muses  chanting  clear. 
Nor  even  Apollo  when  he  sang  alone. 
Deaf  to  his  throbbingr  throat's  lono-,  lontr  melodious  moan. 


17 


I  dreamt  I  saw  thee,   robed  in  purple  flakes, 

Break  amorous  throuoh  the  clouds,  as  mornino'  breaks. 

And,  swiftly  as  a  bright  Phoebean  dart, 

Strike  for  the  Cretan  isle  ;    and  here  thou  art ! 

Too  gentle  Hermes,  hast  thou   found  the  maid  ?" 

Whereat  the  star  of  Lethe  not  delay'd 

His  rosy  eloquence,  and  thus  inquired  : 

"Thou  smooth-lipp'd  serpent,  surely  high-inspired! 

Thou  beauteous  wreath,  with  melancholy  eyes, 

Possess  whatever  bliss  thou  canst  devise, 

Telling  me  only  where  my  nymph  is  fled, — 

Where  she  doth  breathe!"      "Bright  planet,  thou  hast  said," 

Return'd  the  snake,  "but  seal  with  oaths,   fair  God!" 

"I  swear,"   said  Hermes,   "by  my  serpent  rod. 

And  by  thine  e)es,  and  b)-  thy  starry  crown  !" 

Light  flew  his  earnest  words,  among  the  blossoms  blown. 


iS 


Then  thus  acrain  the  brilHance  femuiine  : 

"Too  frail  of  heart!    for  this  lost  nymph  of  thine, 

Free  as  the  air,  invisibly,  she  strays 

About  these  thornless  wilds  ;    her  pleasant  days 

She  tastes  unseen  ;    unseen  her  nimble  feet 

Leave  traces  in  the  o-rass  and  flowers  sweet : 

o 


From  weary  tendrils,  and  bow'd  branches  green, 

She  plucks  the  fruit  unseen,  she  bathes  unseen  : 

And  by  my  power  is  her  beauty  veil'd 

To  keep  it  unaffronted,   unassail'd 

By  the  love-glances  of  unlovely  eyes. 

Of  Satyrs,  Fauns,  and  blear'd  Silenus'  sighs. 


19 


Pale  grew  her  immortalit)-,   for  woe 

Of  all  these  lovers,  and  she  grieved  so 

I  took  compassion  on  her,  bade  her  steep 

Her  hair  in  weird  syrops,  that  would  keep 

Her  loveliness  invisible,  yet  free 

To  wander  as  she  loves,  in  liberty. 

Thou  shalt  behold  her,   Hermes,  thou  alone. 

If  thou  wilt,  as  thou  swearest,  grant  my  boon  !" 

Then,  once  again,  the  charmed  God  beean 

An  oath,  and  through  the  serpent's  ears  it  ran 

Warm,   tremulous,  devout,  psalterian. 


Ravish'd  she  lifted  her  Circean  head, 

Blush'd  a  hve  damask,  and  swift-hsping  said, 

"I  was  a  woman,  let  me  have  once  more 

A  woman's  shape,  and  charming  as  before. 

I  love  a  youth  of   Corinth — O  the  bliss  ! 

Give  me  my  woman's  form,  and  place  me  where  he  is. 

Stoop,   Hermes,  let  me  breathe  upon  thy  brow. 

And  thou  shalt  see  thy  sweet  nymph  even  now." 


^-"'-'   .^^'^^'^f*'^* 
^■i^"^ 


The  God  on  half-shut  feathers  sank  serene, 

She  breathed  upon  his  eyes,  and  swift  was  seen 

Of  both  the  guarded  nymph  near-smiling  on  the  green. 

It  was  no  dream  ;    or  say  a  dream  it  was, 

Real  are  the  dreams  of  Gods,  and  smoothly  pass 

Their  pleasures  in  a  long  immortal  dream. 

One  warm,  flush'd  moment,  hovering,  it  might  seem 

Dash'd  by  the  wood-nymph's  beauty,  so  he  burn'd  ; 

Then,  lighting  on  the  printless  verdure,  turn'd 

To  the  swoon'd  serpent,  and  with  languid  arm, 

Delicate,  put  to  proof  the  lithe  Caducean  charm. 

So  done,  upon  the  nymph  his  eyes  he  bent 

Full  of  adoring  tears  and  blandishment. 

And  towards  her  stept :    she,  like  a  moon  in  wane, 

Faded  before  him,  cower'd,  nor  could  restrain 

Her  fearful  sobs,  self-folding  like  a  flower 

That  faints  into  itself  at  evening  hour: 

But  the  God  fostering  her  chilled  hand, 

She  felt  the  warmth,  her  eyelids  open'd  bland. 

And,  like  new  flowers  at  morning  song  of  bees, 

Bloom'd,  and  gave  up  her  honey  to  the  lees. 

Into  the  green-recessed  woods  they  flew  ; 

Nor  grew  they  pale,  as  mortal  lovers  do. 


Left  to  herself,  the  serpent  now  began 
To  change  ;    her  elfin  blood  in  madness  ran, 
Her  mouth  foam'd,   and  the  grass,  therewith  besprent, 
Wither'd  at  dew  so  sweet  and  virulent  ; 
Her  eyes  in  torture  hx'd,  and  anguish  drear, 
Hot,  glazed,  and  wide,  with  lid-lashes  all  sear, 
Flash'd  phosphor  and  sharp  sparks,  without  one  cooling  tear. 
The  colors  all  infiamed  throughout  her  train. 
She  writhed  about,   convulsed  with  scarlet  pain  : 
A  deep  volcanian  yellow  took  the  place 
Of  all  her  milder-mooned  body's  grace  ; 
And,  as  the  lava  ravishes  the  mead. 
Spoilt  all  her  silver  mail,  and  golden  brede  ; 
Made  gloom  of  all  her  frecklings,  streaks  and  bars, 
Eclipsed  her  crescents,  and  lick'd  up  her  stars  : 
So  that,  in  moments  few,  she  was  undrest 
Of   all  her  sapphires,  greens,  and  amethyst, 
And  rubious-argent :    of  all  these  bereft. 
Nothing  but  pain  and  ugliness  were  left. 
Still  shone  her  crown  ;    that  vanish'd,   also  she 
Melted  and  disappear'd  as  suddenly  : 
And  in  the  air,  her  new  voice  luting  soft, 


Cried,   "Lycius!    gentle  Lycius  !" — Borne  aloft 
With  the  bright  mists  about  the  mountains  hoar 
These  words  dissolved  :    Crete's  forests  heard  no  more. 

Whither  fled  Lamia,  now  a  lady  bright, 
A  full-born  beauty  new  and  exquisite  ? 
She  fled  into  that  valley  they  pass  o'er 
Who  go  to  Corinth  from   Cenchreas'  shore  ; 
And  rested  at  the  foot  of   those  wild  hills, 
The  ruo"o;ed  tounts  of   the  Percean  rills. 
And  of   that  other  ridge  whose  barren  back 
Stretches,  with  all  its  mist  and  cloudy  rack, 
South-westward  to  Cleone.      There  she  stood 
About  a  young  bird's  flutter  from  a  wood, 
Fair,  on  a  sloping  green  of   mossy  tread. 
By  a  clear  pool,  wherein  she  passioned 
To  see  herself  escaped  from  so  sore  ills. 
While  her  robes  flaunted  with  the  daffodils. 


26 


Ah  !    happy  Lycius  ! — for  she  was  a  maid 
More  beautiful  than  ever  twisted  braid, 
Or  sigh'd,  or  blush'd,  or  on  spring-flower'd  lea 
Spread  a  green  kirtle  to  the  minstrelsy  : 
A  virgin  purest  lipp'd,  yet  in   the  lore 
Of  love  deep  learned  to  the  red  heart's  core : 
Not  one  hour  old,  yet  of   sciential  brain 
To  unperplex  bliss  from  its  neighbor  pain  ; 
Define  their  pettish  limits,  and  estrange 
Their  points  of  contact,  and  swift  counterchange  ; 
Intrigue  with  the  specious  chaos,  and  dispart 
Its  most  ambio^uous  atoms  with  sure  art ; 
As  though  in  Cupid's  college  she  had  spent 
Sweet  days  a  lovely  graduate,  still  unshent, 
And  kept  his  rosy  terms  in  idle  languishment. 

Why  this  fair  creature  chose  so  faerily 
By  the  wayside  to  linger,  we  shall  see  ; 
But  first  'tis  fit  to  tell  how  she  could  muse 
And  dream,  when  in  the  serpent  prison-house, 
Of  all  she  list,  strano-e  or  masfnificent : 
How,  ever,  where  she  will'd,  her  spirit  went ; 


29 


Whether  to  faint  Elysium,  or  where 
Down  through  tress-hftino:  waves  the  Nereids  fair 
Wind  into  Thetis'  bower  by  many  a  pearly  stair  ; 
Or  where  God  Bacchus  drains  his  cups  divine, 
Stretch'd  out,  at  ease,  beneath  a  glutinous  pine  ; 
Or  where  in  Pluto's  gardens  palatine 
Mulciber's  columns  gleam   in   tar  piazzian  line. 
And  sometimes  into  cities  she  would  send 
Her  dream,  with  feast  and  rioting  to  blend  ; 
And  once,  while  among  mortals  dreaming  thus, 
She  saw  the  young  Corinthian  Lycius 
Charioting  foremost  in  the  envious  race. 
Like  a  young  Jove  with  calm  uneager  face. 


m 


\^ 


'""«if 


30 


And  fell   into  a  swooning  love  of  him. 

Now  on   the  moth-time  of   that  evening  dim 

He  would  return  that  way,  as  well  she  knew, 

To  Corinth  from  the  shore  ;    for  freshly  blew 

The  eastern  soft  wind,  and  his  galley  now 

Grated  the  quay-stones  with  her  brazen  prow 

In  port  Cenchreas,  from  Egina  isle 

Fresh  anchor'd  ;    whither  he  had  been  awhile 

To  sacrifice  to  Jove,  whose  temple  there 

Waits  with  high  marble  doors  for  blood  and  incense  rare. 

Jove  heard  his  vows,  and  better'd  his  desire  ; 

For  by  some  freakful  chance  he  made  retire 

From  his  companions,  and  set  forth  to  walk. 

Perhaps  grown  wearied  of  their  Corinth  talk  ; 

Over  the  solitary  hills  he  fared. 

Thoughtless,  at  first,  but  ere  eve's  star  appear'd 

His  phantasy  was  lost,  where  reason  fades. 

In  the  calm'd  twilight  of   Platonic  shades. 

Lamia  beheld  him  coming,   near,  more  near — 

Close  to  her  passing,  in  indifference  drear. 

His  silent  sandals  swept  the  mossy  green  ; 

So  neighbor'd  to  him,  and  yet  so  unseen 


31 


She  stood  :    he  pass'd,   shut  up  in  mysteries, 

His  mind  wrapp'd  Hke  his  mantle,  while  her  eyes 

Follow'd  his  steps,  and  her  neck  regal  white 

Turn'd — syllabling  thus,    "Ah,   Lycius  bright! 

And  will  you   leave  me  on  the  hills  alone  ? 

Lycius,  look  back  !    and  be  some  pity  shown." 

He  did  :    not  with  cold  wonder  fearingly, 

But  (3rpheus-like  at  an   Eurydice  ; 

For  so  delicious  were  the  words  she  sung. 

It  seem'd  he  had  loved  them  a  whole  summer  long : 


32 


And  soon  his  eyes  had  drunk  her  beauty  up, 

Leaving  no  drop  in  the  bewildering  cup, 

And  still  the  cup  was  full, — while  he,  afraid 

Lest  she  should  vanish  ere  his  lip  had  paid 

Due  adoration,  thus  began  to  adore  ; 

Her  soft  look  growing  coy,  she  saw  his  chain  so  sure 

"Leave  thee  alone!      Look  back!      Ah,  Goddess,  see 

Whether  my  eyes  can  ever  turn  from  thee  ! 

For  pity  do  not  this  sad  heart  belie — 

Even  as  thou  vanishest  so  I  shall  die. 

Stay !    though  a  Naiad  of   the   rivers,   stay ! 

To  thy  far  wishes  will  thy  streams  obey  : 

Stay !    though  the  greenest  woods  be  thy  domain, 

Alone  they  can  drink  up  the  morning  rain  ; 

Though  a  descended  Pleiad,  will  not  one 

Of  thine  harmonious  sisters  keep  in  tune 

Thy  spheres,  and  as  thy  silver  proxy  shine  ? 

So  sweetly  to  these  ravish'd  ears  of   mine 

Came  thy  sweet  greeting,  that  if   thou  shouldst  fade 

Thy  memoiy  will  waste  me  to  a  shade  : — 

For  pity  do  not  melt!" — "If   I  should  stay," 

Said  Lamia,  "here,  upon  this  floor  of  clay, 


And  pain  my  steps  upon  these  flowers  too  rough, 

What  canst  thou  say  or  do  of   charm  enough 

To  dull  the  nice  remembrance  of  my  home  ? 

Thou  canst  not  ask  me  with  thee  here  to  roam 

Over  these  hills  and  vales,  where  no  joy  is, — 

Empty  of   immortality  and  bliss  ! 

Thou  art  a  scholar,  Lycius,  and  must  know 

That  finer  spirits  cannot  breathe  below 

In  human  climes,  and  live.     Alas  !    poor  )outh. 

What  taste  of  purer  air  hast  thou  to  soothe 

My  essence  ?      What  serener  palaces. 

Where  I  may  all  my  many  senses  please. 

And  by  mysterious  sleights  a  hundred  thirsts  appease? 

It  cannot  be — Adieu  !"      So  said,  she  rose 

Tiptoe  with  white  arms  spread.     He,  sick  to  lose 

The  amorous  promise  of  her  lone  complain, 

Swoon'd,  murmuring  of  love,  and  pale  with  pain. 

The  cruel  lady,  without  any  show 

Of   sorrow  for  her  tender  favorite's  woe. 

But  rather,  if  her  eyes  could  brighter  be, 

With  brighter  eyes  and  slow  amenity, 

Put  her  new  lips  to  his,  and  gave  afresh 


34 


The  life  she  had  so  tangled  in  her  mesh : 

And  as  he  from  one  trance  was  wakening 

Into  another,  she  began  to  sing, 

Happy  in  beauty,  life,  and  love,  and  everything, 

A  song  of  love,  too  sweet  for  earthly  lyres, 

While,  like  held  breath,  the  stars  drew  in  their  panting  fires. 

And  then  she  whisper'd  in  such  trembling  tone. 

As  those  who,  safe  together  met  alone 

For  the  first  time  through  many  anguish'd  clays. 

Use  other  speech  than  looks  ;    bidding  him  raise 

His  drooping  head,  and  clear  his  soul  of  doubt. 

For  that  she  was  a  woman,  and  without 

Any  more  subtle  fluid  in  her  veins 

Than  throbbing  blood,  and  that  the  self-same  pains 

Inhabited  her  frail-strunof  heart  as  his. 

And  next  she  wonder'd  how  his  ej'es  could  miss 

Her  face  so  long  in   Corinth,  where,  she  said. 

She  dwelt  but  half  retired,  and  there  had  led 

Days  happy  as  the  gold  coin  could  invent 

Without  the  aid  of  love  ;    yet  in  content 

Till  she  saw  him,  as  once  she  pass'd  him  by, 

Where  'gainst  a  column  he  leant  thoughtfully 


37 


At  Venus'  temple  porch,  'mid  baskets  heap'd 

Of  amorous  herbs  and  flowers,  newly  reap'd 

Late  on  that  eve,  as  'twas  the  night  before 

The  Adonian  feast ;    whereof  she  saw  no  more. 

But  wept  alone  those  days,  for  why  should  she  adore  ? 

Lycius  from  death  awoke  into  amaze, 

To  see  her  still,  and  singing  so  sweet  lays  ; 

Then  from  amaze  into  delight  he  fell 

To  hear  her  whisper  woman's  lore  so  well  ; 

And  every  word  she  spake  enticed  him  on 

To  unperplex'd  delight  and  pleasure  known. 

Let  the  mad  poets  say  whate'er  they  please 

Of  the  sweets  of   Faeries,  Peris,   Goddesses, 

There  is  not  such  a  treat  among  them  all. 

Haunters  of  cavern,  lake,  and  waterfall, 

As  a  real  w'oman,  lineal  indeed 

From  Pyrrha's  pebbles  or  old  Adam's  seed. 

Thus  gentle  Lamia  judged,  and  judged  aright, 
That  Lycius  could  not  lo\'e  in  half  a  fright, 
So  threw  the  goddess  off  and  won  his  heart 
More  pleasantly  by  playing  woman's  part. 


38 


With  no  more  awe  than  what  her  beauty  gave, 
That,  while  it  smote,  still  guaranteed  to  save. 
Lycius  to  all  made  eloquent  reply, 
Marrying  to  every  word  a  twin-born  sigh  ; 
x^nd  last,  23ointing  to  Corinth,  ask'd  her  sweet, 
If  'twas  too  far  that  night  for  her  soft  feet. 
The  way  was  short,  for  Lamia's  eagerness 
Made,  by  a  spell,  the  triple  league  decrease 
To  a  few  paces  ;    not  at  all  surmised 
By  blinded  Lycius,  so  in  her  comprised. 
They  pass'd  the  city  gates,  he  knew  not  how, 
So  noiseless,  and  he  never  thought  to  know. 

As  men  talk  in  a  dream,  so  Corinth  all, 
Throughout  her  palaces  imperial, 
And  all  her  populous  streets  and  temples  lewd, 
Mutter'd,  like  tempest  in  the  distance  brew'd, 


39 


To  the  wide-spreaded  night  above  her  towers. 
Men,  women,   rich  and  poor,  in  the  cool  hours, 
Shuffled  their  sandals  o'er  the  pavement  white, 
Companion'd  or  alone  ;    while  many  a  light 
Flared,  here  and  there,   from  wealthy  festivals, 
And  threw  their  moving  shadows  on  the  walls, 
Or  found  them  cluster'cl  in  the  corniced  shade 
Of  some  arch'd  temple  door,  or  dusky  colonnade. 

Mufflino-  his  face,  of  greeting  friends  in  fear, 
Her  fingers  he  press'd  hard,  as  one  came  near 
With  curl'd  gray  beard,  sharp  eyes,  and  smooth  bald  crown, 
Slow-stepp'd,  and   robed  in  philosophic  gown  : 
Lycius  shrank  closer,  as  they  met  and  past, 
Into  his  mande,  adding  wings  to  haste. 
While  hurried  Lamia  trembled:  "Ah,"  said  he, 
"W'hy  do  you  shudder,  love,  so  ruefully? 
Why  does  your  tender  palm  dissolve  in  dew?" — 
"I'm  wearied,"  said  fair  Lamia:   "tell  me  who 
Is  that  old  man  ?      I  cannot  bring  to  mind 
His  features: — Lycius!    wherefore  did  you  blind 
Yourself   from  his  quick  eyes?"      Lycius  replied, 


40 


I 


"  'Tis  Apollonius  sage,  my  trusty  guide 
And  Q-ood  instructor  ;    but  to-nis^-lit  he  seems 
The  ghost  of  folly  haunting  my  sweet  dreams." 


While  yet  he  spake,  they  had  arrived  before 
A  pillar'd  porch,  with  lofty  portal  door, 
Where  hung  a  silver  lamp,  whose  phosphor  glow 
Reflected  in  the  slabbed  steps  below, 
Mild  as  a  star  in  water  ;    for  so  new 
And  so  unsullied  was  the  marble's  hue. 
So  through  the  crystal  polish,  liquid  fine, 
Ran  the  dark  veins,  that  none  but  feet  divine 
Could  e'er  have  touch'd  there.      Sounds  yEolian 
Breathed  from  the  hinges,  as  the  ample  span 
Of  the  wide  doors  disclosed  a  place  unknown 
Some  time  to  any,  but  those  two  alone, 


43 


And  a  few  Persian  mutes,  who  that  same  year 
Were  seen  about  the  markets  :    none  knew  where 
They  coukl  inhabit ;    the  most  curious 
Were  foil'd,  who  watcli'd  to  trace  them  to  their  house 
And  but  the  flitter-wino^ed  verse  must  tell, 
For  truth's  sake,  what  woe  afterwards  befell, 
'Twould  humor  many  a  heart  to  leave  them  thus. 
Shut  from  the  busy  world  of   more  incredulous. 


44 


Love  in  a  hut,  with  water  and  a  crust. 

Is — Love,  formve  us  ! — cinders,  ashes,  chist  ; 

Love  in  a  palace  is  perhaps  at  last 

More  grievous  torment  than  a  hermit's  fast : — 

That  is  a  doubtful   tale  from   faery  land, 

Hard  for  the  non-elect  to  understand. 

Had  Lycius  lived  to  hand  his  story  down, 

He  mitrht  have  (nven  the  moral  a  Iresh  frown, 


45 


Or  clench'd   it  quite  ;    but  too  short  was  their  hlhs 

To  breed  distrust  and  hate,  that  make  the  soft  voice  hiss. 

Besides,  there,  nightly,  with  terrific  glare, 

Love,  jealous  grown  of  so  complete  a  pair, 

Hover'd  and  buzz'd  his  wings,  with  fearful   roar, 

Above  the  lintel  of   their  chamber  door. 

And  down  the  passage  cast  a  glow  upon  the  floor. 

For  all  this  came  a  ruin  :    side  by  side 
They  were  enthroned,   in  the  even   tide, 
Upon  a  couch,  near  to  a  curtaining 
Whose  airy  texture,   from  a  golden   string. 
Floated  into  the  room,  and  let  appear 
Unveil'd   the  summer  heaven,  blue  and  clear, 
Betwixt  two  marble  shafts  : — there  they  reposed. 
Where  use  had  made  it  sweet,  with  eyelids  closed, 
Saving  a  tithe  which  love  still  open  kept, 
That  they  might  see  each  other  while  they  almost  slept  ; 
When  from  the  slope  side  of  a  suburb  hill, 
Deafeninof  the  swallow's  twitter,  canie  a  thrill 
Of  trumpets — Lycius  started — the  sounds  fled, 
But  left  a  thought,  a  buzzing  in  his  head. 


46 


For  the  first  time,  since  first  lie  harbor'd  in 

That  purple-Hned  palace  of  sweet  sin, 

His  spirit  pass'd  beyond  its  golden  bourn 

Into  the  noisy  world  almost  forsworn. 

The  lady,  ever  watchful,  penetrant, 

Saw  this  with  pain,  so  arguing  a  want 

Of  something  more,  more  than  her  empery 

Of  joys  ;    and  she  began  to  moan  and  sigh 

Because  he  mused  beyond  her,  knowing  well 

That  but  a  moment's  thought  is  passion's  passing  bell. 

"Why  do  you  sigh,  fair  creature?"  whisper'd  he. 

"Why  do  you  think?"  returned  she  tenderly: 

"You  have  deserted  me;    where  am  I  now? 

Not  in  your  heart  while  care  weighs  on  your  brow  : 

No,  no,  you  have  dismiss'd  me  ;    and  I  o-o 

'  o 

From  your  breast  houseless  :    ay,  it  must  be  so." 
He  answer'd,  bending  to  her  open  eyes, 
Where  he  was  mirror'd  small  in  paradise, 


47 


"My  silver  planet,  both  of   eve  and  morn! 

Why  will  you  plead  yourself  so  sad  forlorn, 

While  I  am  striving  how  to  fill  my  heart 

With  deeper  crimson,  and  a  double  smart  ? 

How  to  entangle,  trammel  up  and  snare 

Your  soul  in  mine,  and  labyrinth  you   there. 

Like  the  hid  scent  in  an  unbudded  rose  ? 

Ay,  a  sweet  kiss — }'Ou  see  yoiu'  mighty  w^oes. 

My  thoughts  !    shall  I   unveil  them  ?      Listen,  then  ! 

What  mortal  hath  a  prize,  that  other  men 

May  be  confounded  and  abash'd  withal, 

But  lets  it  sometimes  pace  abroad  majestical. 

And  triumph,  as  in   thee  I   should  rejoice 

Amid  the  hoarse  alarm  of  Corinth's  voice  ? 

Let  my  foes  choke,  and  my  friends  shout  afar, 

While  through  the  thronged  streets  your  bridal  car 

Wheels  round  its  dazzling  spokes." — The  lady's  cheek 

Trembled  ;    she  nothing  said,  but,  pale  and  meek. 

Arose  and  knelt  before  him,  wept  a  rain 

Of   sorrows  at  his  words  ;    at  last  with  pain 

Beseeching  him,   the  while  his  hand  she  wrung-, 

To  change  his  purpose.     He  thereat  was  stung, 


4S 


Perverse,  with  stronger  fancy  to  reclaim 

Her  wild  and  timid  nature  to  his  aim  ; 

Besides,  for  all  his  love,  in  self-despite, 

Asrainst  his  better  self,  he  took  delicrht 

Luxurious  in  her  sorrows,   soft  and  new. 

His  passion,   cruel  grown,  took  on  a  hue 

Fierce  and  sanguineous  as  'twas  possible 

In  one  whose  brow  had  no  dark  veins  to  swell. 

Fine  was  the  mitigated  fury,  like 

Apollo's  presence  when   in  act  to  strike 

The  serpent — Ha,  the  serpent !    certes,  she 

Was  none.      She  burnt,   she  loved  the  tyranny, 

And,  all   subdued,  consented  to  the  hour 

When  to  the  bridal  he  should  lead  his  paramour. 


49 


Whispering  in  midnight  silence,  said  the  youth, 
"Sure  some  sweet  name  thou  liast,   though,  by  my  truth, 
'I  liave  not  ask'd  it,  ever  thinl<;ing  thee 
Not  mortal,   but  of  heavenly  progeny. 
As  still  I  do.       Hast  any  mortal   name, 
Fit  appellation  for  this  dazzling  frame  ? 
Or  friends  or  kinsfolk  on  the  citied  earth. 
To  share  our  marriage  feast  and   nuptial   mirth?" 
"I  have  no   friends,"  said  Lamia,   "no,   not  one; 
My  presence  in  wide  Corinth  hardly  known  : 
My  parents'  bones  are  in  their  dustv  urns 
Sepulchred,  where  no  kindled  incense  burns. 
Seeing  all  their  luckless   race  are  dead,   save  me, 
And  I  neglect  the  holy  rite  for  thee. 
Even  as  you  list  invite  your  many  guests  ; 
But  if  as  now  it  seems,  3'our  vision  rests 
With  any  pleasure  on  me,   do  not  bid 
Old  Apollonius — from  him  keep  me  hid." 
Lycius,  perplex'd  at  words  so  blind  and  blank, 
Made  close  inquiry  ;    from  whose  touch  she  shrank, 
Feigning  a  sleep  ;    and  he  to  the  dull  shade 
Of  deep  sleep  in  a  moment  was  betray'd. 


53 


It  was  the  custom  then  to  bring  away 
The  bride  from  home  at  bkishing  shut  of  day, 
Veil'd,  in  a  chariot,  heralded  alonsf 
By  strewn  flowers,  torches,  and  a  marriage  son^ 
With  other  pageants  ;    but  this  fair  unknown 
Had  not  a  friend.      So  beine  left  alone 


51 


(Lycius  was  gone  to  summon  all  his  kin), 

And  knowing  surely  she  could  never  win 

His  foolish  heart  from  its  mad  pompousness, 

She  set  herself  high-thoughted,  how  to  dress 

The  misery  in  fit  magnificence. 

She  did  so,  but  'tis  doubtful  how  and  whence 

Came,  and  who  were  her  subtle  servitors. 

About  the  halls,  and  to  and  from  the  doors, 

There  was  a  noise  of  wings,  till  in  short  space 

The  glowing  banquet-room  shone  with  wide-arched  grace. 

A  haunting  music,  sole  perhaps  and  lone 

Supportress  of  the  faery  roof  made  moan 

Throughout,  as  fearful  the  whole  charm  might  fade. 

Fresh  carved  cedar,  mimickine  a  elade 

Of  palm  and  plantain,  met  from  either  side, 

High  in  the  midst,  in  honor  of   the  bride  : 

Two  palms  and  then  two  plantains,  and  so  on. 

From  either  side  their  stems  branch'd  one  to  one 

All  down  the  aisled  place  ;    and  beneath  all 

There  ran  a  stream  of  lamps  straight  on  from  wall  to  wall. 

So  canopied,  lay  an   un tasted  feast 

Teeming  with  odors.      Lamia,  regal  drest. 


52 


Silently  paced  about,  and  as  she  went, 
In  pale  contented  sort  of  discontent, 
Mission'd  her  viewless  servants  to  enrich 
The  fretted  splendor  of  each  nook  and  niche. 
Between  the  tree-stems,  marbled  plain  at  first, 
Came  jasper  panels  ;    then,  anon,  there  burst 
Forth  creeping  imagery  of   slighter  trees. 
And  with  the  larger  wove  in  small  intricacies. 
Approving  all,  she  faded  at  self-will, 


And  shut  the  chamber  up,  close,  hush'd  and  still. 

Complete  and  ready  for  the  revels  rude. 

When  dreadful  guests  would  come  to  spoil  her  solitude. 

The  day  appear'd,  and  all  the  gossip  rout. 
O  senseless  Lycius  !    Madman  !    wherefore  flout 


S3 


The  silent-blessing  fate,  warm  cloister'd  hours, 
And  show  to  common  eyes  these  secret  bowers  ? 
The  herd  approach'cl ;    each  guest,  with  busy  brain, 
Arriving  at  the  portal,  gazed  amain. 
And  enter'd  marvelling  ;    for  they  knew  the  street, 
Remember'd  it  from  childhood  all  complete 
Without  a  gap,  yet  ne'er  before  had  seen 
That  roj-al  porch,  that  high-built  fair  demesne  ; 
So  in  they  hurried  all,  mazed,   curious  and  keen  : 
Save  one,  who  look'd  thereon  with  eye  severe. 
And  with  calm-planted  steps  walk'd  in  austere  ; 
'Twas  ApoUonius  :    something  too  he  laugh'd. 
As  though  some  knott)-  problem,  that  had  daft 
His  patient  thought,  had  now  begun  to  thaw. 
And  solve  and  melt : — 'twas  just  as  he  foresaw. 

He  met  within  the  murmurous  vestibule 
His  young  disciple.      "  'Tis  no  common  rule, 
Lycius,"  said  he,   "for  uninvited  guest 
To  force  himself   upon  you,  and  infest 
With  an  unbidden  presence  the  bright  throng 
Of  younger  friends  ;    yet  must  I  do  this  wrong. 


54 


And  you   forgive  me."      Lycius  blush'cl,  and  led 
The  old  man  through  the  inner  doors  broad-spread, 
With  reconciling  "words  and  courteous  mien 
Turning  into  sweet  milk  the  sophist's  spleen. 


Of  wealthy  lustre  was  the  banquet-room, 
Fill'd  with  pervading  brilliance  and  perfume. 
Before  each  lucid  panel  fuming  stood 
A  censer  fed  with  mj^rrh  and  spiced  wood. 


55 


Each  by  a  sacred  tripod  held  aloft, 

Whose  slender  feet  wide-swerved  upon  the  soft 

Wool-woofed  carpets  :    fifty  wreaths  of  smoke 

From  fifty  censers  their  light  voyage  took 

To  the  high  roof  still  mimick'd  as  they  rose 

Along  the  mirror'd  walls  by  twin-clouds  odorous. 

Twelve  sphered  tables,  by  silk  seats  insphered, 

High  as  the  level  of  a  man's  breast  rear'd 

On  libbard's  paws,  upheld  the  heavy  gold 

Of  cups  and  goblets,  and  the  store  thrice  told 

Of  Ceres'  horn,  and,  in  huge  vessels,  wine 

Came  from  the  gloomy  tun  with  merry  shine. 

Thus  loaded  with  a  feast  the  tables  stood, 

Each  shrining  in  the  midst  the  image  of  a  God. 

When  in  an  antechamber  every  guest 

Had  felt  the  cold  full  sponge  to  pleasure  press'd, 

By  minist'ring  slaves,  upon  his  hands  and  feet. 

And  fragrant  oils  with  ceremony  meet 

Pour'd  on  his  hair,  they  all  moved  to  the  feast 

hi  white  robes,  and  themselves  in  order  placed 

Around  the  silken  couches,  wondering 

Whence  all  this  mighty  cost  and  blaze  of  wealth  could  spring. 


56 


Soft  went  the  music  the  soft  air  along, 
While  fluent  Greek  a  vowell'd  under-song 
Kept  up  among  the  guests,  discoursing  low 
At  first,  for  scarcely  was  the  wine  at  flow  ; 
But  when  the  happy  vintage  touch'd  their  brains, 
Louder  they  talk,  and  louder  come  the  strains 
Of   powerful  instruments  : — the  gorgeous  dyes, 
The  space,  the  splendor  of   the  draperies, 
The  roof  of  awful  richness,  nectarous  cheer, 
Beautiful  slaves,  and  Lamia's  self  appear. 
Now,  when  the  wine  has  done  its  rosy  deed, 
And  every  soul  from  human  trammels  freed, 
No  more  so  strange  ;    for  merry  wine,  sweet  wine. 
Will  make  Elysian  shades  not  too  fair,  too  divine. 
Soon  was  God   Bacchus  at  meridian  height ; 
Flush'd  were  their  cheeks,  and  bright  eyes  double  bright : 
Garlands  of   every  green,  and  every  scent, 
From  vales  deflower'd,  or  forest-trees  branch-rent. 
In  baskets  of  bright  osier'd  g;o\d  were  brought 
High  as  the  handles  heap'd,  to  suit  the  thought 
Of  every  guest ;    that  each,  as  he  did  please. 
Might  fancy-fit  his  brows,  silk-pillow'd  at  his  ease. 


59 


What  wreath  for  Lamia  ?      What  for  Lycius  ? 
What  for  the  sage,  old  Apollonius  ? 
Upon  her  aching  forehead  be  there  hung 
The  leaves  of  willow  and  of  adder's  tongue  ; 
And  for  the  youth,  quick,  let  us  strip  for  him 
The  thyrsus,  that  his  watching  eyes  may  swim 
Into  forgetfulness  ;    and,  for  the  sage, 
Let  spear-grass  and  the  spiteful  thistle  wage 
War  on  his  temples.      Do  not  all  charms  fly 
At  the  mere  touch  of  cold  philosophy? 
There  was  an  awful  rainbow  once  in  heaven  : 
We  know  her  woof  her  texture  ;    she  is  given 
In  the  dull  catalogue  of  common  thinirs. 
Philosophy  will  clip  an  Angel's  wings, 
Conquer  all  mysteries  by  rule  and  line. 
Empty  the  haunted  air,  and  gnomed  mine — 
Unweave  a  rainbow,  as  it  erewhile  made 
The  tender-person'd  Lamia  melt  into  a  shade. 


60 


By  her  glad  Lycius  sitting,  in  chief  place, 
Scarce  saw  in  all  the  room  another  face, 
Till,  checking  his  love-trance,  a  cup  he  took 
Full  brimm'd,  and  opposite  sent  forth  a  look 
'Cross  the  broad  table,  to  beseech  a  glance 
From  his  old  teacher's  wrinkled  countenance, 
And  pledge  him.      The  bald-head  philosopher 
Had  fix'd  his  eye,  without  a  twinkle  or  a  stir, 


6i 


Full  on   the  alarmed  beauty  of   the  bride, 

Browbeating  her  fair  form,  and  troubling  her  sweet  pride. 

Lycius  then  press'd  her  hand,  with  devout  touch, 

As  pale  it  lay  upon  the  rosy  couch  : 

'Twas  icy,  and  the  cold  ran  through  his  veins  ; 

Then  sudden  it  grew  hot,  and  all  the  pains 

Of  an  unnatural  heat  shot  to  his  heart. 

"Lamia,  what  means  this?      Wherefore  dost  thou  start? 

Know'st  thou  that  man  ?"      Poor  Lamia  answer'd  not. 

He  gazed  into  her  eyes,  and  not  a  jot 

Own'd  they  the  lovelorn  piteous  appeal : 

More,  more  he  gazed  :    his  human  senses  reel : 

Some  hungry  spell  that  loveliness  absorbs  ; 

There  was  no  recognition  in  those  orbs. 

"Lamia!"  he  cried — and  no  soft-tonecl  reply. 

The  many  heard,  and  the  loud  revelry 

Grew  hush  :    the  stately  music  no  more  breathes  ; 

The  myrtle  sicken'd  in  a  thousand  wreaths. 

By  faint  degrees,  voice,  lute,  and  pleasure  ceased  ; 

A  deadly  silence  step  by  step  increased. 

Until  it  seem'cl  a  horrid  presence  there. 

And  not  a  man  but  felt  the  terror  in  his  hair. 


62 


"Lamia!"   he  shriek'd  ;    and  nothing  but  the  shriek 

With  its  sad  echo  did  the  silence  break. 

"Begone,  foul  dream  !"  he  cried,  o-azine  asrain 

In  the  bride's  face,  where  now  no  azure  vein 

Wander'd  on  fair-spaced  temples  ;    no  soft  bloom 

Misted  the  cheek  ;    no  passion  to  illume 

The  deep-recessed  vision  : — all  was  blight ; 

Lamia,  no  longer  fair,  there  sat  a  deadly  white. 

"Shut,  shut  those  juggling  eyes,  thou  ruthless  man  ! 

Turn  them  aside,  wretch  !    or  the  righteous  ban 

Of  all  the  Gods,  Avhose  dreadful  imaofes 

Here  represent  their  shadowy  presences, 

May  pierce  them  on  the  sudden  with  the  thorn 

Of  painful  blindness  ;    leaving  thee  forlorn, 

In  trembling  dotage  to  the  feeblest  fright 

Of  conscience,  for  their  long-offended  might. 

For  all  thine  impious  proud-heart  sophistries, 

Unlawful  magic,  and  enticing  lies. 

Corinthians  !    look  upon  that  gray-beard  wretch  ! 

Mark  how,  possess'd,  his  lashless  eyelids  stretch 

Around  his  demon  eyes  !       Corinthians,  see  ! 

My  sweet  bride  withers  at  their  potency." 


"Fool!"  said  the  sophist,  in  an  under-tone 

Gruff  with  contempt ;    which  a  death-nighing  moan 

From  Lycius  answer'd,  as,  heart-struck  and  lost, 

He  sank  supine  beside  the  aching  ghost. 

"Fool!    fool!"   repeated  he,  while  his  eyes  still 

Relented  not,   nor  moved;   "from  every  ill 

Of  life  have  I  preserved  thee  to  this  day. 

And  shall  I  see  thee  made  a  serpent's  prey?" 

Then  Lamia  breathed  death-breath  ;    the  sophist's  eye, 

Like  a  sharp  spear,  went  through  her  utterly, 

Keen,  cruel,  perceant,  stinging :    she,  as  well 

As  her  weak  hand  could  any  meaning  tell, 

Motion'd  him  to  be  silent  ;    vainly  so  ; 

He  look'd  and  look'd  again  a  level — No  ! 

"A  serpent!"  echoed  he;    no  sooner  said, 

Than,  with  a  frightful  scream,  she  vanished  : 

And  Lycius'  arms  were  empty  of  delight. 

As  were  his  limbs  of  lite,  from  that  same  nisfht. 


64 


On  the  high  couch  he  lay  ! — his  friends  came  round — 
Supported  him — no  pulse  or  breath  they  found, 
And  in  its  marriage  robe  the  heavy  body  wound. 


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"  Philostratus,  in  his  fourth  book  de  Vita  Apollonii,  hath  a  memorable 
instance  in  this  Icind,  which  I  may  not  omit,  of  one  Menippiis  Lycius,  a 
young  man  twenty-five  years  of  age,  that,  going  betwixt  Cenchreas  and 
Corinth,  met  such  a  phantasm  in  the  haljit  of  a  fair  gentlewoman,  which, 
taking  him  by  the  hand,  carried  him  home  to  her  house,  in  the  suburbs  of 
Corinth,  and  told  him  she  was  a  Phoenician  by  birth,  and  if  he  would. tarry 
with  her,  he  should  hear  her  sing  and  play,  and  drink  such  wine  as  never  any 
drank,  and  no  man  should  molest  him;  but  she,  being  fair  and  lovely,  would 
live  and  die  with  him,  that  was  fair  and  lovely  to  behold.  The  young  man, 
a  philosopher,  otherwise  staid  and  discreel,  able  to  moderate  his  passions, 
though  not  this  of  love,  tarried  with  her  awhile  to  his  great  content,  and 
at  last  married  her,  to  whose  wedding,  amongst  other  guests,  came  Apol- 
lonius ;  who,  by  some  probable  conjectures,  found  her  out  to  be  a  serpent, 
a  lamia;  and  that  all  her  furniture  was,  like  Tantalus'  gold,  described  by 
Homer,  no  substance,  but  mere  illusions.  When  she  saw  herself  descried, 
she  wept,  and  desired  ApoUonius  to  be  silent,  but  he  would  not  be  moved, 
and  thereupon  she,  plate,  house,  and  all  that  was  in  it,  vanished  in  an 
instant ;  many  thousands  took  notice  of  this  fact,  for  it  was  done  in  the 
midst  of  Greece." — Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  Part  3,  Sect.  2,  Memb. 
I.  Subs.  I. 


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